Llewyn Davis, portrayed by Oscar Isaac in the new film from Joel and Ethan Coen, is not exactly the right guy for his time and place. That’s quite unlike the Coens’ heroic Dude, as played by Jeff Bridges in their 1998 cult comedy classic “The Big Lebowski,” who just fits right in there; no, Davis, a lonesome folk singer in 1961 Greenwich Village, wanders Manhattan without a proper winter coat, sometimes winsomely carrying an orange cat (it’s a long story) and his guitar. At infrequent gigs at The Gaslight Café, he introduces his music as not quite new and not quite old; he himself seems to cut that style of figure, though as we know from history, folk music is about to take a bracing shot of the new and authentic. The wave of revolution is just on the horizon.

“Inside Llewyn Davis” is one of the Coens’ finest films, and that’s not something one can say lightly of the filmmakers who have brought us, among many others, “Raising Arizona,” “Fargo,” “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” and “No Country for Old Men.” It’s perhaps even less focused on plot than many of those, a circular comedic character study of its hapless, talented singer protagonist in a time when he’s discovering having talent isn’t enough.

Bruno Delbonnel’s stunning cinematography presents a vision of New York almost glowing with a melancholy haze. “Inside Llewyn Davis” could be described as a film about mourning — not only the loss of a person, but the loss of a lifestyle, the loss of the life you could have led as you wake up one morning and find, as a character puts it to Llewyn halfway through the film, that you are trapped and the same bad things keep happening because you want them to.

There’s no question that Llewyn Davis, a prickly character given soulful warmth and compassion by Isaac’s portrayal, can be his own worst enemy. He couch-surfs from musician friend to musician friend, allowing the cat of a charitable couple he stays with to escape. (We could have a long conversation about what, exactly, the cat represents, but the gag about its name near the film’s end seems to hint that an equally interesting film would exclusively follow the cat.)

His friends Jim (Justin Timberlake) and Jean (Carey Mulligan) extend him a place to stay sometimes. Some past offense of Llewyn’s seems to have infuriated Jean — although she is also carrying a child she cannot be sure is not Llewyn’s. During the span of a week, Llewyn bounces from friend to friend, gig to gig, even embarking on an ill-fated trip to Chicago with a viperous gasbag of a jazz singer (John Goodman) and his Beat-poet valet (Garrett Hedlund) to seek representation with a well-regarded manager (F. Murray Abraham).

The particulars of what lies inside Llewyn Davis, exactly, are best observed. The Coens, long accused of torturing their characters as if they’re children frying ants with a magnifying glass, have nothing if not deep affection for their flawed, talented protagonist, and a clear affection for the music of the era as well (brought to life by producer T-Bone Burnett). That’s not an accusation I share; there is some dark comedy in “Inside Llewyn Davis,” but it springs from a far more generous, even forgiving view of who Llewyn Davis is as a person. Whereas the Coens’ 2009 Oscar nominated film “A Serious Man” depicts a universe in which bad things can happen to good people for no reason, “Inside Llewyn Davis” takes a more humane, more grounded view: Llewyn can be kind of scabrous, but who isn’t? And when you hear his music, well, maybe that makes all the bad things worthwhile.

Of course, a late-film “cameo” reminds us that all the talent in the world can’t stop what’s coming, to paraphrase another Coen character. Sometimes the prisons in which we find ourselves are of our own making, yes, but other times they’re out of our control.

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Llewyn Davis, portrayed by Oscar Isaac in the new film from Joel and Ethan Coen, is not exactly the right guy for his time and place. That’s quite unlike the Coens’ heroic Dude, as played by Jeff Bridges in their 1998 cult comedy classic “The Big Lebowski,” who just fits right in there; no, Davis, a lonesome folk singer in 1961 Greenwich Village, wanders Manhattan without a proper winter coat, sometimes winsomely carrying an orange cat (it’s a long story) and his guitar. At infrequent gigs at The Gaslight Café, he introduces his music as not quite new and not quite old; he himself seems to cut that style of figure, though as we know from history, folk music is about to take a bracing shot of the new and authentic. The wave of revolution is just on the horizon.

“Inside Llewyn Davis” is one of the Coens’ finest films, and that’s not something one can say lightly of the filmmakers who have brought us, among many others, “Raising Arizona,” “Fargo,” “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” and “No Country for Old Men.” It’s perhaps even less focused on plot than many of those, a circular comedic character study of its hapless, talented singer protagonist in a time when he’s discovering having talent isn’t enough.

Bruno Delbonnel’s stunning cinematography presents a vision of New York almost glowing with a melancholy haze. “Inside Llewyn Davis” could be described as a film about mourning — not only the loss of a person, but the loss of a lifestyle, the loss of the life you could have led as you wake up one morning and find, as a character puts it to Llewyn halfway through the film, that you are trapped and the same bad things keep happening because you want them to.

There’s no question that Llewyn Davis, a prickly character given soulful warmth and compassion by Isaac’s portrayal, can be his own worst enemy. He couch-surfs from musician friend to musician friend, allowing the cat of a charitable couple he stays with to escape. (We could have a long conversation about what, exactly, the cat represents, but the gag about its name near the film’s end seems to hint that an equally interesting film would exclusively follow the cat.)

His friends Jim (Justin Timberlake) and Jean (Carey Mulligan) extend him a place to stay sometimes. Some past offense of Llewyn’s seems to have infuriated Jean — although she is also carrying a child she cannot be sure is not Llewyn’s. During the span of a week, Llewyn bounces from friend to friend, gig to gig, even embarking on an ill-fated trip to Chicago with a viperous gasbag of a jazz singer (John Goodman) and his Beat-poet valet (Garrett Hedlund) to seek representation with a well-regarded manager (F. Murray Abraham).

The particulars of what lies inside Llewyn Davis, exactly, are best observed. The Coens, long accused of torturing their characters as if they’re children frying ants with a magnifying glass, have nothing if not deep affection for their flawed, talented protagonist, and a clear affection for the music of the era as well (brought to life by producer T-Bone Burnett). That’s not an accusation I share; there is some dark comedy in “Inside Llewyn Davis,” but it springs from a far more generous, even forgiving view of who Llewyn Davis is as a person. Whereas the Coens’ 2009 Oscar nominated film “A Serious Man” depicts a universe in which bad things can happen to good people for no reason, “Inside Llewyn Davis” takes a more humane, more grounded view: Llewyn can be kind of scabrous, but who isn’t? And when you hear his music, well, maybe that makes all the bad things worthwhile.

Of course, a late-film “cameo” reminds us that all the talent in the world can’t stop what’s coming, to paraphrase another Coen character. Sometimes the prisons in which we find ourselves are of our own making, yes, but other times they’re out of our control.